


Fancy Pants

by tradeofalljax



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Death of a perfectly good pair of pants, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tradeofalljax/pseuds/tradeofalljax
Summary: Lorenz tries on a new outfit for a party - his lover ruins it.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Aivend Magus Lethei, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Original Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13
Collections: The Privilege of Loving Him





	Fancy Pants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madelegg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madelegg/gifts).



> Aivend is madelegg and I's oc that we ship with Lorenz because reasons we don't owe anyone. He's tall, dark, and bastard.
> 
> And he has a big, fat dick but he doesn't get to use it in this pwp. This is all about Lorenz's ass

It’s a decadent suit, that’s for sure.

An opulent shade of mulberries, warm satin, lined with an aged lace trim and embroidered roses along the breast. Smooth trousers to match, tucked into a pair of the most exquisite thigh high suede boots dyed a deep cherry red.

Lorenz  _ knows _ how scrumptious he looks, but his mood is dampened when Aivend rolls his eyes at the attire upon first glance. He tuts and sneers at his lover. “You wouldn’t know  _ exceptional _ fashion if it strolled up and slapped you in the face.”

“You’re right on that,” Aivend remarks, flopping down gracelessly at the foot of the bed to pull on his dress boots. “You’ve slapped me many a time.”

Lorenz’s scowl only deepens before he remembers that he’s  _ trying _ to avoid wrinkles. Of course, if that were truly the case, he wouldn’t have stayed with one of the most infuriating swordsmen in all of the United Kingdom of Fohdlan. He ignores his love’s snide comment and continues to admire himself in the floor length mirror. “Have you ever seen a material so exquisite?”

To emphasize his point, he caresses his fingers down the curves of his ass.

Aivend’s head doesn’t lift, but Lorenz can tell he’s looking by the pause before his dismissive grunt. The surly man thinks himself indiscernible, but he’s opened himself to Lorenz enough by now; Lorenz knows when Aivend cannot help but admire the finer things that he claims disinterest in. Their relationship may have started off rocky, messy, but they have long since developed a synergy that allows sincerity to flow effortlessly between them.

Lorenz bends over to readjust the ties on the inside of the ankles of his boots when he hears the bed frame shift, and shuffling behind him. Peeking between his thighs, he sees polished steel-toed boots right at his heels. “May I help you?”

“Hm.”

The large, warm hand cupping Lorenz’s ass answers where words do not.

“So you  _ do _ like it,” Lorenz smirks to himself, but his smugness is soon evaporating as he’s manhandled backwards and deposited on the thick feather bed. Pressed down with wide palms over his shoulders, anchored to the mattress, Lorenz has no choice but to give in to the boorish strength. “Aivend! You’ll wrinkle the material!”

“Strutting around, looking such a way. Are you trying to rile me up?” Aivend growls above him, his topaz eyes gazing down at Lorenz with such unbridled heat. Calloused hands relieve their pressure on Lorenz’s shoulders to stroke over the embroidered roses and their leaves, seeking the treasure that lay hidden beneath the decor. At Lorenz’s sharp inhale, the subtle arch of his spine, Aivend knows he’s reached those sensitive, dusky pink nipples.

“Y-you can’t be serious, Aivend. The guests will be arriving within the hour, and the festivities must get underway on time lest it run into the splendid dinner I spent days overseeing the preparations for! Have you the slightest inkling what it takes to manage an estate of this stature—  _ ah! _ Mind your hands, and your manners, you brute!” Lorenz’s usual timbre rises in pitch the lower Aivend’s thumbs work circles into bony hips with just the right amount of pressure.

Curse this brute, exploiting his weak spots that make his groin tingle and knees quake. Honestly, if it weren’t for the tides of pleasure spiraling through his lower belly, he wouldn’t hesitate in boxing those pierced ears until they ring for a week. With years of practice under Aivend’s belt, it comes as no surprise that he is managing to unravel Lorenz on the spot.

“Be done in ten, fifteen minutes, tops.” Aivend murmurs as he leans over Lorenz, one elbow supporting his weight as he ducks down to kiss Lorenz's thin neck, while the other hand reaches between them to loosen the intricate ties holding up Lorenz’s pants.

Lorenz huffs at that, turning his head on instinct to give his lover room to work his way up to sensitive ears with teeth. “Oh my, isn’t that alluring? Admitting how little time it shall take you to come.”

“Not me. You.” Aivend growls against flushed skin with frustration that matches his incessant tugging at Lorenz’s pants. “What in the name of The Creator is this bullshit?”

Lorenz pushes himself up to examine the situation, and bawks. “What a fine mess you’ve made! How did you manage to tangle the strings?”

“Not my fault you decided to wear the most complicated trousers known to mankind.”

“How am I going to fix thi—” His complaint is cut short by a yelp as he’s unceremoniously flipped over on his stomach, knees barely grazing the floor, suede boots unable to find purchase on the rug. “Quote me on what I said about wrinkles!”

The sound of steel sliding against a leather sheath has Lorenz pausing on bated breath - surely Aivend isn't  _ threatening _ him over pants strings - but he doesn’t need to wait long before he feels a pressure right between his ass cheeks, and then a soft tear, and cold air.

“Tell me you did  _ not _ just do what I think you did!” Lorenz squawks in indignation. He pushes himself up to glance over his shoulder, but he doesn’t get more than a meager glance before a superiorly strong arm bars him back down. “You barbarian! I will hang you by your testicles, I swear it! Do you have any idea how much this suit cost? There was absolutely no reason for you to— to-- t-to— o- _ oohhhhhh _ …”

It comes without warning, and Lorenz's entire face flares beet red from the first wet swipe over his puckered hole; his lungs seizing up with air, toes curling inside cramped boots. It’s a long, slow drag of hot tongue that sends a shiver wracking through his spine from base to skull. And then he remembers why he's mad. Glaring over his shoulder, he opens his mouth to verbally whip Aivend, but he’s beat to the punch.

"No. Shush." Aivend orders and reaches up to shove Lorenz face first into the bedding, much to the younger man’s chagrin.

Lorenz will not stand to be shushed, but Aivend’s stubble burns his ass cheeks and his anger is quickly evaporating, everything slipping out of his control, and his eyelids flutter in their struggle to remain open. He's not some wanton whore that swoons at the slightest bit of stimulation, truly not; however, the sheer masculinity of Aivend somehow always manages to devitalize any attempts Lorenz makes to push him away. Not to mention, oh goddess, Aivend's tongue is  _ dastardly _ .

Aivend circles the sensitive flesh on the outskirts of Lorenz's twitching hole with his tongue, trails up Lorenz’s crack, then back down, stopping only to nip and suck at the smooth flesh of the pinkened rump. Lorenz would complain that Aivend is obsessed with leaving marks on his ass, but in all truth, he looks forward to admiring them at a later time.

The sound of tearing fabric has Lorenz reeling back again, but Aivend is ready for such a reaction, and he's pressing Lorenz to the bed a third time.

"Can't you sit still?"

"Can't  _ you _ refrain from acting like an uncultured heathen?"

Aivend's answer comes in the form of him spitting directly on Lorenz's entrance.

Lorenz means to berate, he does, but Aivend's smooth tongue is grinding against his puckered entrance, laving over it repeatedly, and Lorenz can do nothing but grip the duvet and moan out for him while his eyes roll back into his skull. "Oh my goddess...!"

Aivend flicks his tongue, swift and ferocious as if in battle, soaking Lorenz's most private area. He pulls back to blow cold air over his saliva and Lorenz twitches violently at the sudden shifts in sensation.

"You planned on stepping out of this room...dressed like that...without giving me a taste first..." Aivend growls between slurping at Lorenz's perineum and sucking his balls. 

He makes the lewdest noise that would make a priestess faint, and he presses his forehead into the bedding, stretching his legs out to push up on his toes. Aivend is driving him insane with talk like that, and the bastard knows it. Aivend rolls his balls around in his mouth for not nearly enough time, not in Lorenz's book, but he can't complain when that scalding mouth is already making its way with delightful nipping teeth up to his asshole again. A particular bite has Lorenz screaming, then an apologetic suck soothes him into a whimpering mewl. He has no idea what Aivend is going to do to him next, just that he wants more, more, more…

He rolls his hips into the mattress, seeking some sort of friction for his encased cock, anything, but the fabric of his trousers is so smooth, it gives him nothing. He's absolutely devastated, and at the mercy of Aivend's mouth alone.

“Still loose from last night,” Aivend observes, hot breath swirling over Lorenz’s twitching hole and soaked hairs. He wastes no time in slipping a finger in to the first knuckle, and Lorenz squeezes around the impromptu intrusion. Aivend sighs in elation and slips the digit out to replace with his tongue, pushing in with little resistance. He uses his flexible tongue to stimulate the sensitive nerves, thrusting it in and out until Lorenz takes up the task for him and rocks his hips against Aivend’s face.

He is losing his mind from the heat and wet. Where the room temperature air hits his soaked balls and perineum and ass cheeks, goosebumps flare up along his back and legs. He can’t even remember how long they’ve been at this, surely for several minutes, maybe even an hour, and there is definitely something he's supposed to be doing at this moment, but Lorenz can’t stand the idea of Aivend stopping any time soon. He wants his mouth, he wants his fingers, he wants his fat cock.

As if reading his thoughts, Aivend gives one last deep probe with his tongue before shoving two fingers in without any warning. Lorenz can’t find it in him to be vexed, instead groaning out at the sudden stretch. And as if that isn’t enough, that sinful tongue manages to squeeze its way back inside Lorenz, fucking in tandom with thick fingers. Scissoring digits make way for deeper licking, and then another finger…

Wait,  _ another _ finger?

Lorenz wails and pinches the duvet between his fingers, mind pleasure drunk and spinning. Hot white sparks explode behind his eyelids, and their impact shoots through his chest and belly, right into his cock. “Ai-vend!”

Aivend is treating this as if it's some competitive event that he must win, even if it means throwing Lorenz into spiraling madness. One hand keeps Lorenz spread, his tongue rubbing the velvety insides enthusiastically, all while the finger from his other hand thrusts against Lorenz’s prostate with fatal precision. It’s an art form; all the twisting and impeccably placed pressure in all the right places.

Aivend’s lips slurp and rub the ridges of Lorenz's rim as if it's his favorite candy, and as far as Lorenz is concerned, it probably is. He grazes his teeth with gentle consideration, intent to excite and draw out shameful noises out because at some point down the line of them dating it became his life’s creed. To build Lorenz up and up and up and up, all so he can watch him tilt over and unravel in Aivend’s enormous palms.

Lorenz is close, so close despite not being able to get to his erection. He wants to come, he wants to come in his pants - his gorgeous, fashionable,  _ expensive _ pants. That Aivend  _ cut _ into with a knife. He’s supposed to be angry, furious, but instead his balls are tightening up, his eyes are crossing, he’s drooling into their elegant bedding as he moans and mewls, begging for his lover to finish him off.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,  _ don’t sop _ …”

Like the obedient soldier he is, Aivend keeps up his hard work, even if it’s cramping up his hands. He removes his second hand to rub Lorenz’s perineum while his other attacks Lorenz’s prostate from within with two fingers, teeth nipping all over the finite amount of ass spared by the sliced open material.

“Come for me, Lori. Come on, baby.” Aivend breathes hard against Lorenz, intentionally scraping his stubble against the sensitive flesh.

Getting attacked from both sides of the gland is nothing more than filthy cheating, but can Lorenz really complain when he screams out in completion, wet warmth filling the front of his trousers and squishing against his pubes? 

Ever the dedicated lover, Aivend is not done just because Lorenz has reached orgasm. He continues to rub him through every jerk of his hips, every wave of lingering pleasure, easing off gently until even the slightest brush of fingertips tear a whimper out of the elegant noble crumpling up on the disheveled bed.

Lorenz allows his eyes to slide shut for a handful of moments, Aivend gently rolling him over onto his back.

“You know, you could make quite the fashion statement, going out there like this.” Aivend murmurs, effortlessly catching a long leg mid weak kick. He snickers to himself and unties the laces on the inner ankle, dragging the suede boot off, sock and all, and tossing it to his right. He lifts Lorenz’s narrow foot and presses a kiss to the soft arch.

“Oh, Aivend…” Lorenz moans out in fatigue. “We’re going to be late for our own party.”

“Relax,” Aivend kneads his thumbs into the arch and ball of Lorenz’s foot. “We still have thirty-eight minutes until the guests arrive.”

Lorenz furrows his brows at that and glances at the clock on the wall. Has it truly only been ten minutes since he last checked the time? He averts his gaze to Aivend, the man watching him with a smugness in his eyes.

“Oh, don’t even start. Help me get changed, you animal.” Lorenz pushes himself to sit up with a lamenting sigh. He had been looking forward to showing off this set, had been anticipating the compliments and envious glares. He supposes that Aivend acting beastly for him within moments of him getting dressed is enough to sate his ego for the night.

Although, Aivend didn’t  _ have _ to destroy it.

“Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for ruining my tousers.”

Aivend doesn’t look up as he slides off Lorenz’s right boot, lifting the foot up so he can swipe a tongue between the pedicured toes. “Guess I’ll have to work extra hard to earn your forgiveness later tonight, hm? Prove just how remorseful I am.”

Lorenz can’t help but press out lecherous smirk at that. The mere thought of riding Aivend’s ‘remorse’ and milking it for every drop until he learns his lesson is already making the thought of a last minute wardrobe change feel less taxing.

**Author's Note:**

> [doesn't post fic for years and shows up with this and starbucks]


End file.
